But Given Unsought Better
by blackmoon9793
Summary: For how could the Devil take her as his bride if she already belonged to another?
1. Part I

_Get thee a good husband,  
_ _And use him as he uses thee._

-All's Well that Ends Well, I.i.229-30

* * *

She looked like a child. The pins in her hair had come loose, leaving tendrils to fall asymmetrically down her back. She tucked her chin to her chest and refused to meet any of their eyes. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, white fingers clutching at her elbows.

She had gotten much too thin, he realized. One day she would just blow away like smoke in the wind.

They had come for her again, and again their haphazard coterie had forced the nightcomers from the house, leaving wreckage in their wake. They had battled through the night and in the burgeoning light of the day had righted the parlour where they now circled around the embers of the dying fire, waiting for a salvation they knew they could only make for themselves.

Vanessa could not last this onslaught much longer, Ethan knew.

"There must be something more we can try," Sir Malcolm had said when they first regrouped, as he did each time the witches made another attempt. As always, no one responded. Sir Malcolm was at a loss, Victor had only just taken more morphine, and Sembene was as stoic as ever.

But an idea had been spinning round and round Ethan's mind for days now, a desperate idea that might in the end do more harm than good. But the situation had become dire. Vanessa was weakening by the day, and he refused to fail her now.

"Miss Ives?" he asked softly.

She looked up at him from across the circle of leather sofas. Her eyes were gradually becoming colorless, and she gazed at him as if in a dream.

"I think I may have thought of a way to help you."

She said nothing still, but Sir Malcolm and the good doctor sat forward quickly and Sembene stepped closer to the longest sofa.

"What man?" Sir Malcolm asked excitedly, but Ethan never took his eyes from Vanessa's. She was trembling.

Slowly, Ethan stood from the end of the sofa and made his way to the mantle. She watched him unblinkingly, her fingers shaking against the black satin of her sleeves. Ethan took a deep breath.

"You told me the Devil wants you to be his queen of darkness and the mother of evil. Was that the truth?"

He knew it was. Ethan had found her standing outside his door three nights prior, her eyes wet and her face flushed and her bones poking out from under her thin white nightdress. And she told him every word that had passed between her and the demon that had come to her wearing his face. He had stayed silent, knowing from the wildness in her eyes and her fingers clutching at his shirt that she needed to tell him everything, needed to expunge the horror from her mind. When she finished, he had held her close until her tears dried and then led her back to her own room, tucking her in as he had that awful, awful day. She had fallen asleep by the time he closed the door, but he had spent the rest of the night keeping vigil outside her room, thinking, thinking, thinking. Now he thought he had found finally an answer.

Vanessa clearly understood that he didn't doubt her, he could see that, so when she lifted her chin defiantly Ethan knew she was offering her affirmation.

"What's this?" Sir Malcolm questioned sharply as he rose completely from the sofa, whiskey in hand. Ethan ignored him and kept his eyes locked on Vanessa's. He licked his lips.

"What I was thinking is, how could you be the Devil's bride if you were already bound to someone else?"

She flinched and shook her head with a jerk. "No."

"Think about it, Miss Ives."

Her eyes flashed. "It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make a difference. He would still come for me."

Ethan shook his head and took two steps closer to her. "I don't think so. If we do this correctly, we may be able to put another barrier between you and him. He wouldn't be able to take you."

"Mr. Chandler—"

"We know he can't touch something truly holy. It makes sense, Miss Ives – a consecrated union, blessed by a priest. A proper, righteous priest."

"Holy sacrament," Sir Malcolm added, nodding. "Mr. Chandler, this could work."

"You've all gone mad," Frankenstein intoned unemotionally from the sofa, but he was roundly ignored.

Vanessa stood, her movement graceful and her carriage regal despite the sleepless night and metaphysical bombardment. "I cannot ask that of you, Mr. Chandler."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

But she shook her head again. "No, I cannot allow it. You believe such a...a _binding_ , as you call it, would provide me a layer of protection from the Devil, but what of his minions? What of the creatures that come for me in his stead? Uniting yourself with me on such a level would enrage them. Though I appreciate the efforts you have taken to defend me, Mr. Chandler, I cannot consent to your placing yourself in the way of undue harm and danger."

"I'm already in danger, in case you haven't been paying attention. You know they've come after me as well, and you know it's because of what I am. _Lupus dei_ , they called me. Wolf of God. That's not your doing, is it? And if it's the Devil you're trying to keep at bay, wouldn't tying yourself to something of God's work better than anything else?"

Vanessa kept her eyes fixed on the door. Frankenstein scoffed behind him, but Ethan could not have cared less what the other three men in the room thought of his proposition or attempts at persuasion. They weren't like him and Vanessa. They did not walk the fine line between themselves and something else entirely, not as he and Vanessa did.

She quivered and let out a shaky breath. Ethan crouched down ever so slightly so that his eyes were level with hers and gently took her hand-covered elbows in his own. "You called me your protector."

"They're cards," she hissed, but he shook his head.

"It was whatever magic you have inside you telling you I'm here to help you. You're not dark, Miss Ives." Her eyes snapped back to his, clear as glass and shining in the dying light of the fire. "Not like they are, and you know it. And what you told me makes sense. All these years, I've never known why I have this thing inside me. Now I think I do."

Her eyes closed again, and a jolt of yearning made its way through Ethan as he suddenly realized he missed them. "You cannot place that upon me."

"I'm not."

But she was shaking again, from her head to her toes. "No," she bit out. Her eyes opened and she jerked abruptly, forcing Ethan to rise to his full height and step away from her.

"I'm sorry, no," she said, her voice cracking on the last word, before turning on her heels and fleeing the room.

Ethan watched her go, the last of her raven hair finally coming loose and streaming out behind her. He turned and was met with the dumbfounded expressions of both Sir Malcolm and Frankenstein. Sembene pursed his lips and looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes. Ethan hadn't the time for them.

He followed Vanessa into the hall and called after her, but she refused to stop, hurrying through the entry and up the staircase. Ethan took the stairs two at a time until he reached her on the landing.

"Vanessa, wait," he said throatily, catching her wrist. She turned slowly to face him, her eyes parallel with his given the two stair steps she had on him. She was crying.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he whispered, raising his free hand to delicately wipe away the tears glistening like opals against her pallid cheeks.

She leaned in almost imperceptibly to his touch. "You haven't upset me."

"I have and I apologize, but you need to hear me out."

His hand dropped from her cheek to her waist, preventing her from running again. Her chin fell to her chest once more, but he knew she was listening. He inhaled deeply and began again. "You know what I am. I've never told you in so many words, but you know. You know how I've struggled with it; I almost let it take me away from you."

He felt a tremor run through her beneath his broad hand, but he didn't stop. He had put off being completely honest with her about himself, about his feelings for too long.

"There have been times I've hated myself for it, and I'll admit, there've been times I tried to end it, but I never could. For so long, I wandered lost in the darkness until I stopped believing in much of anything beyond what I could see with my own two eyes. But after everything we've done – after everything _you've_ showed me – I'm beginning to understand what it all means."

Two perfect tears trailed down her cheeks once more, but he made no move to rub them away. She had to hear him.

"You called me your protector, and whether you believe it's true or not, I do. And so does the Devil. He's sent those things after me specifically. They've tried to deter me and I know you're awfully distracted when they attack us, but one of them always goes after me in particular.

"They call me your protector, too" he breathed, his voice dropping. He pressed his thumb to the center of her palm. "They whisper it to me in the heat of battle. They call me the Wolf of God, and I know it to be true. Whatever I may do when I'm...when I'm like that, I don't feel an evil presence. I'm not saying it's in the right, and I'm not saying I'm proud of the people I've hurt, but more and more all the time I think there's a purpose to it.

"I know you don't like to think of your life as prophesized or bound by fate, and I'm not saying I believe much in destiny either, but I do think that no matter what I could've done all roads would have lead me to you. That I'm supposed to be here, by your side, defending you from this evil."

Vanessa's small hand clutched at his, sending a paradoxical rush of warmth through him. He moved his other hand from her waist, letting it ghost along her side as he reached up to grasp her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. She let him raise her head so that his eyes could bore into hers.

"I'm not ashamed of what I am. Not anymore. I'm not afraid. I don't reject what I am or why I'm here. I don't rebel against it. I accept it. Wholeheartedly."

Ethan couldn't keep his voice from shaking at his last word, his vow. Vanessa understood and visibly choked.

"Mr. Chandler," she breathed and made to step down closer to him, but Ethan held her more firmly, forcing her eyes to stay on his.

"Now, I've spent a lot of time thinking about what that means for you and me," he continued. "Since you came to me the other night, I've been thinking and thinking and thinking, and I know it sounds crass and misogynistic, but I really think to keep you safe I have to get to you before he can. If I am God's wolf, if He made me this way so that I could be a weapon against the Devil, surely, _surely_ , I can offer you protection in that.

"Vanessa," his voice wavered, and he felt tears blaze behind his own eyes. "I don't take this lightly, and I don't think you should reject me so flippantly. This plan has merit. I know how alone you must feel; I've felt it, too. But we're stronger together, we could outwit him together. Please, just think it through."

His thumb slid up to brush along her lower lip. "But you should know, I'm not suggesting this because I feel I must or because I think it's my duty. I'm asking you to be with me, in the eyes of God and the Devil and whoever else is watching, because I want to. And because I want to be with you."

It was a confession, and she took it as such. Her lip quaked beneath his finger, so he moved his hand to rest against her upper arm. She moved her own hand to lace her fingers through his.

"I'm afraid," she whispered brokenly.

"Of me?" Ethan asked just as quietly.

She shook her head, her curls brushing his hand as softly as moths' wings. "No, never."

Something stirred deep within him, something familiar and foreign all at once. He forced it back, keeping his mind focused on her, his thumb sweeping reassuringly over hers.

Fresh tears glided along her cheeks. "This is how it always begins. He always works anew within me, always when I let myself begin to love."

A dam deep within Ethan burst, flooding his senses with a burning, coursing heat such as he had never known. He knew instinctively to let her speak, to let her work her way to him, but that didn't stop him from suddenly longing to crush to him, to touch and smell and taste every inch of her, to show her what he felt better than words could ever express. But instead, he settled for cupping her cheek and drawing her down a step, her name a murmur on his lips.

Her free hand settled against his heart. Surely she could feel it throb warmly against her clammy palm through the layers of bloody, sweat-drenched clothes.

"Sometimes he takes them, sometimes he doesn't, but I always lose those dear to me once he's through, and you are so, so very dear me, Ethan." She caressed his name with her tongue, seeming to enjoy saying his Christian name as much as he enjoyed hearing it on her lips. "You are the truest friend I have ever had. I know you have no ulterior motive in offering yourself to me, I know you do not see me as an obligation, and if we were any other man and woman…."

Her voice faltered, and she pressed herself more firmly into his hands. The shaking began afresh. Ethan dropped her hand to rest his against the one covering his chest.

"I won't let him touch you again."

"You cannot promise me that. To do so would be far greater a pledge than you can know."

He brushed the back of his hand along her damp cheek. "Haven't you learned better by now than to tell me what I can and can't do? I meant what I said. When the Devil pulled that demon out from inside you I forced it back, and I'll do it again if I have to. Not that I'll let things go that far again. I'll never let you suffer like that; I'll always find a way. You have my word on that."

"I believe you," she whispered but didn't elaborate, instead staring down at their hands intertwined at his tattered shirtfront.

When she next spoke, she said, "In my torment he came to me in your form, as I have told you. At first I didn't recognize him as an impostor; I wanted it to be you. And he tempted me – oh Ethan, how he tempted me. But it was not his sweet sentiments or the glory he promised me that made me want to give in. It was your voice whispering beautiful words in my ear, your hands on my skin, your mouth on mine. I wanted him because he was you, and he knew it. The Devil knew what was in my heart before I fully did.

"You may be something he cannot touch. You may be this Wolf of God, and it may be that he will be kept at bay by my binding myself to you, but that will not prevent him from coming after you. He will send his nightcomers, and they will be relentless; you will know no peace. They need me alive, but they will slaughter you if they get the chance, and I cannot lose you, Ethan. I'm not strong enough to bear this weight without you."

"And you won't have to," he said firmly, drawing her down the last step so that they stood on an even plane. "I've held them back so far, and I'll do it again. Even if they all come at me at once, they haven't seen all I'm capable of. I—" his voice cracked and he looked down, ashamed. "I'm afraid I haven't been doing all I can. I've hidden what I am, repressed it from you, but that stops today. I will offer you all that I am, even the part of myself I fear.

"I can't promise you nothing will happen to me, but I have faith that this will work. I have _faith_ , Vanessa. Thanks to you."

Morning light streamed in from the numerous windows, making her eyes gleam. Finally, _finally_ , she stepped forward into his arms, wrapping her thin ones around his torso. He held her to him, resting his chin easily against her crown. She had been formed perfectly for him, he realized. They fit. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek into her messy locks.

"And you should know – you must know by now – that I'm not asking this of you just because I think it's the right thing to do. I need you just as badly as you need me. More than I should. More than is proper. It wouldn't just be about keeping you safe, it would be about you and me. Together. Because I want you, Vanessa. God help me, I do."

Another shudder ran through her, but he could tell this time it wasn't one of fear. A part deep inside him, his animal self, sent a wave of feral emotions through him, of desire and need and possession and awe. He would worship this woman if she gave him the chance.

There were no more words, no more arguments to plead his suit. So he leaned his head beside hers, nuzzling the shell of her ear through her hair with his nose.

"Please," he whispered. "Marry me."

Vanessa said nothing at first, but her arms clung tighter to him and her head nodded up and down. "Yes," she finally gasped. "Ethan, yes."

The beast in him roared as his blood rushed to his head. The tears that had long threatened and burned his eyes finally slipped past his defenses as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, where he could feel her pulse flutter against her fragile skin. His hand reached up to cradle the back of her head.

"Thank you," he murmured over and over again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

She shook against him, and Ethan rubbed her back as he pressed a kiss into her hair. She moved back when he drew away, her arms still around him as she looked up into his eyes. One frail hand stretched up to brush his hair behind his ear, cradling his cheek.

He would have kissed her then and there, as he could tell she wanted him to, had a theatrical cough from the doorway to the parlour not caused them both to look down to the floor below.

The other three men were gathered together staring up at Ethan and Vanessa, having evidently watched the entire scene unfold. Frankenstein looked between the man and the woman appalled, while Sembene, much to Ethan's satisfaction, appeared mildly impressed. Sir Malcolm, for his part, looked the cat that ate the canary.

"How much of that did you all hear?" Ethan called down.

"Enough to get the point across," the doctor answered with slight disgust.

Sir Malcolm clapped him none too gently on the back and all but beamed up at the two on the landing. "If I may make a suggestion, I am of the opinion that time is of the essence and there is no sense in waiting around. You two really ought to have the ceremony performed as soon as possible. Today, even, if it can be managed. Before night falls and those witches return. I'm sure with my influence I can arrange for a special license. Do either of you know of a priest willing to sanction a marriage on such short notice?"

"I'll find one," Ethan said.

Vanessa, having quietly stepped out of his arms, spoke up. "No, I know one."

Ethan searched her eyes for any trace of doubt as she gave him the name and address of the church. Personally, he thought he would fare better if she had less time to think back on her decision, but Vanessa's face showed no signs of regret. Her skin was uncreased and her eyes were bright and held a look of something like relief. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly when she looked at him.

"Excellent," Sir Malcolm said, bringing his hands together once more. "No time to waste, then. I'll be off to the magistrate's with Dr. Frankenstein—"

"I really don't see—"

"—with young Victor here. Mr. Chandler, you go speak with the priest. Morning services shall just be beginning. Vanessa, my dear girl, rest, and once you feel a little hardier reinforce the defenses you have placed around this house. I will send for you and Sembene when everything is arranged."

Sembene, who Ethan hadn't notice leave the group, returned from the coat closet bearing outerwear and hats. As Sir Malcolm and Frankenstein went about buttoning up for the cold, Ethan turned back to Vanessa. She smiled up at him now that no one was watching, a soft and small but still genuine smile. Her eyes danced in the light of the dawn.

Unable to resist, Ethan took her face in his hands and pulled her closer. "Do something for me."

She said nothing but quirked an eyebrow in response.

He chuckled. "Wear something other than black to our wedding."

Her smile widened into a grin, and Ethan was certain that had they been alone she would have laughed outright.

Ethan at long last let his composure slip and drew her in for a kiss. Her lips were cold and chapped, and she tasted of flesh and death and spiced tea from some faraway place, but she was still soft and tender and lovely and _his_. Her hands came up to rest on his chest once more, and he rubbed his forehead lightly against hers as he pulled away. She gave him a secretive smile before turning and ascending the stairs. He watched her go.

The other men met his stare when he turned around, having obviously watched the exchange. Ethan paid them no mind. Instead, he marched down the stairs and retrieved his overcoat and bowler hat from Sembene with a nod before strolling past the bemused Sir Malcolm and exasperated Frankenstein out the door and into the brisk morning air.

* * *

 _I had wanted to have this story completely written before I began posting it, but alas, I needed to have it up before the canon on the show starts screwing with my timeline. I outlined it all right after the first episode of the season aired, but it seems like the nature of things like Ethan's lycanthropy and Vanessa's outlook will be changing rather rapidly on the show. Oh well. Part II should be up in the next week or so._


	2. Part II

_One half of me is yours, the other half yours,  
_ _Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,  
_ _And so all yours._

-The Merchant of Venice, III ii 1379-81

* * *

Father Goodman had been delighted to receive Ethan when the younger man approached him at the end of morning prayers, particularly so when he revealed he came at the instructions of Miss Vanessa Ives. In fact, he had beamed from ear to ear, and when Ethan inquired as to his ability to perform their marriage the little old man had risen his hands to the heavens in thanks. Normally, Ethan and Vanessa would have been required to wait several weeks while their engagement was made known to the public, but evidently Vanessa had confided something of her troubles in the little priest as he made enthusiastic exception for them.

Ethan had not realized the extent of his exhaustion until the relief brought by the priest's words left his body sagging tiredly in the pew. Father Goodman then displayed even more of his generosity, welcoming Ethan back into his private study to rest and offering him a fresh shirt.

"No proper lady, even our Miss Ives, would be willing to stand up with you looking like that," he quipped good-naturedly, eyeing the dried bloodstains on Ethan's shirt.

The clean garment was a little too tight and much too white for his taste, but Ethan took it gratefully. Father Goodman left him to nap on his sofa until noon, and when he awoke Ethan was greeted by a platter of tea and sandwiches.

He returned to the nave to wait for news from Sir Malcolm, and while he did he prayed continuously. He prayed in every language he knew: Latin, Greek, a smattering of Aramaic – even a little Spanish, for what it was worth. He said the Lord's Prayer over and over, as well as the Apostle's Creed. He murmured Hail Marys by the dozen, hoping against all hope that the Blessed Mother would smile upon his marriage. He prayed to St. Jude that Vanessa might be spared. He said every prayer he could think of, and then he said them again for good measure.

But prayer is a meditative task, and Ethan's mind began to wander after a fashion. He would be a good husband, of that he was sure. He was already absolutely, unequivocally devoted to Vanessa, and he would do whatever it took to bring her peace and stability. But it was more than that.

Ethan had loved before, and often. He was the type of man who loved easily and honestly. For a long time, he clung to that love as a means of keeping himself human. Surely, he had thought, being able to love as readily and all-consumingly as he knew himself capable of meant he wasn't a monster or a complete animal. The wolf didn't understand love, just lust and rage and unadulterated want, and Ethan needed to think there was some part of himself separate from the beast.

That had been the reason he had cleaved so desperately to Brona. She had been a lovely girl, and selfishly he had tried to find his redemption in her. He had loved her, that hadn't been a lie, and he had wanted to save her. But he had loved the idea of her more than the woman herself. Brona had been kind and lively and generous, and she knew what it was to lead a hard life. He had respected her, but at the same time he had used her.

Brona had been human in the basest of ways. She was flawed and fragile and mortal in such a simple, humble fashion, just as nature had intended. She knew pain, but not darkness, not as Ethan had. Foolishly, desperately, he had thought loving her would help he attain the lost factor of his humanity consumed by the wolf. And perhaps he had found some of it in Brona after all. For what it was worth, he had felt for her and mourned her passing, and easing her pain and showing her love, both emotionally and physically, had brought the both of them peace. Ethan did not regret that and was endlessly glad for the time they had had, but if he were honest – and in church, one must always be – he knew he would not, could not have built a life with poor Brona Croft.

It was different with Vanessa. Yes, he wanted to care for her and keep her safe as he had with Brona, and still others before her, but what he felt for Vanessa was altogether deeper and more overwhelming. It wasn't just because she knew a pain and a suffering so similar to his own. It wasn't just how ardently she needed him and turned to him for comfort and protection. It wasn't just how obviously they were made to complement each other: spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, dear God, even physically.

It was something much deeper, much more primal. The very core of him recognized their fearful, exquisite symmetry, and inherently he knew she felt the same. He had seen it in her eyes when she presented him with the lovers' card so many months before and each time she had looked at him since.

He had wanted her the first time he laid eyes on her. He had loved her the moment she had first told him she was with him. It was a fact that brought him no undo shame, that his heart had called out for her while he had lain with another, that he had not been completely true to her or Brona or anyone else, but Ethan had had his reasons. God help her, for as inhumanly strong as Vanessa was, she was precariously breakable. She understood the metaphysical world around them much more completely than he did, and Ethan knew the struggle she waged within herself was terribly consuming. His own certainly was. Vanessa lived much more within her own world than he did, and though he perceived a mirror of his own feelings in her, he had also known instinctively that he should wait for her to meet him on her own terms.

But she hadn't. Not completely. They moved in circles around each other, closer and closer all the time but still inarguably separate. It had been enough for Ethan to know that she did feel for him, to see that given time they would make their way to one another, but time was something they, tragically, did not have. It pained him to push her, and he hated to think that he was in any way coercing Vanessa into being with him, but he would rather have her protected and slightly unsure of his intentions than a comfortable sitting duck, not when he had it in his power to keep her safe.

He would make it up to her somehow, some way. He would be good to her as he knew she would be good to him. As isolated as she always was, Ethan was utterly, completely drawn to her, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. He would follow her to hell and back if that's what it took, like some false Orpheus searching for his bride.

Perhaps this was destiny, whatever Vanessa might claim she believed. Ethan prayed to God that it was so, that the road they were to walk together had only just begun.

He kneeled at the stone floor before the altar for three hours before a shuffling to his left alerted Ethan to another's presence. He crossed himself and looked up to see not the smiling visage of Father Goodman as he expected but a rumpled and very disgruntled Dr. Victor Frankenstein. The young man stared down at him, arms crossed over his chest and his mouth pulled to the side. Ethan waited for him to say something, but it appeared the doctor was not so inclined.

Ethan raised both his arms and his brows expectantly. "Well?"

Frankenstein looked down at him unblinkingly. "I hope you appreciate all I've been made to go through today."

Ethan huffed and rose stiffly from the church floor. He leaned back, stretching the muscles of his back as best his shirt would allow. "Yeah, Vic, things have been so rough for you lately."

"Well they have," Frankenstein snapped. "And you've no idea what it was like watching that old man smarm his way through the magistrate's office. And don't call me that."

Ethan made his way to the nearest pew and eased himself down, his joints still aching. Frankenstein pivoted but made no further effort to move, forcing Ethan to look up at him. "I take it you got the license, then."

Frankenstein snorted. "And how. I've never seen Sir Malcolm more in his element. He chatted up every person in sight. The magistrate himself near about swooned. It was both fascinating and somewhat appalling. How easily it is to compel government officials into doing one's biding, that is. Though, I suppose it does help to have the funds to back one up."

Ethan ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the polished wood. That was one obstacle out of the way, at least. "Is there a plan we're working off of?"

"Oh yes. Sir Malcolm sent me from the magistrate's to let you know to be prepared. He's gone to collect Miss Ives and Sembene. They should be here within the hour."

Ethan allowed his shoulders to relax. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head fall forward, his hair swaying about his eyes. They would meet the sundown deadline after all. It was good news, and he felt significantly relieved. Even more so with the knowledge that he would soon be reunited with Vanessa; he found himself growing increasingly anxious the longer he went without seeing her.

Frankenstein's feet shuffled again, and Ethan raised his head to see the doctor purse his lips once more. Ethan didn't want to ask, but he knew he should. "Something you want to share, Doctor?"

The younger man's arms fell to his sides and he made an odd stepping movement with his right foot. "You know this is all rather ridiculous, don't you?"

Ethan sat up somewhat, his hands pressing down on his thighs. "You were paying attention this morning, weren't you?"

Frankenstein huffed exasperatedly. "Yes, I _understand_ that you and Miss Ives are in grave danger. I understand that you think these witches are on some eternal quest after you both."

"We don't think, Victor, we know. And so do you, when you get down to it."

"Alright, _fine_. _Yes_. I believe it, too. And I want you two to be safe as much as anyone. But is all this really necessary?"

Ethan sighed and attempted to stretch his arms but found his borrowed shirt too restrictive. "You're so supercilious about logic. Everything has to happen in such a way that you can rationalize it, or you dismiss it as fantasy. Let me try to explain this in a way that you'll be able to understand.

"This doesn't make sense. None of it. At all. It doesn't make sense to Vanessa that she's suffered with this all these years, that she's been plagued by powers and visions and torment. But she still has. It doesn't make sense to me that I've gone through the things I have and dealt with my share of curses. But this, marrying each other, makes logical sense to us. You may not understand it completely, but believe me when I tell you that we consider this a very valid course of action. She and I are in perfect agreement. We want to do this."

The other man appeared unphased. "I do see that you and Miss Ives, and even Sir Malcolm and Sembene, think this the best way to proceed, and I do acknowledge the rationale behind it. Given what I know about the...satanic nature of Miss Ives' situation and the Christian myths regarding the powers of God over those of the Devil, this is a very reasonable solution. That being said, I just...wonder."

He moved closer to the pew to stand beside the still sitting Ethan. "I know both of you to have profound faith. It does seem likely that this type of ritual would counteract the workings of the Devil, that much I will admit is true. But given how much credence you and Miss Ives set by superstitions, do you not think this solution rather permanent?"

His sentiments were both uncharacteristically humble and moderately offensive. Yet, they were perhaps the nicest things Frankenstein had ever said to Ethan. He could not help but feel flattered and mildly irritated.

"You're not much of a believer in marriage, are you, Doc?"

Frankenstein's eyes narrowed briefly before he turned and sat beside the older man. "I wouldn't necessarily say that."

Ethan sat back and turned to angle himself toward Frankenstein. "Well, then, I know that you get awkward when it comes to matters of women. Emotional matters."

Frankenstein squirmed. "No."

"Alright, it's the idea of men and women together then, isn't it?"

"I have no idea what you could possibly mean by that. I've witnessed men and women interacting together on an almost daily basis. For example, this morning I was strong-armed into watching you talk your fiancée into entering into this farcical engagement."

He was attempting to push Ethan's buttons, and Ethan knew it, but he was too content rolling the word 'fiancée' around in is mind to tale offence. "You know exactly what I meant."

Frankenstein shifted to sit, incredibly, even more stiffly. "Oh, alright. I admit, I am not terribly...comfortable discussing or devoting much thought to...relations between men and women. As it were, I prefer the impartiality and clinical distance required with scientific considerations, as you are well aware. And yes, part of my reservations about what you are about to do stem from my...unease at the changing nature of the relationship between the two of you. I have never known a couple before they were married. I've never known a couple before they were a couple. This is new territory for me, and I am unsure as to how to react.

"But that isn't entirely what I meant. I have no ill regard for you or Miss Ives, you must know that. You have both proven yourselves time again to be utterly decent, especially to me. You've no idea how I appreciate it. But that being said, you have both led rather solitary lives without many lengthy attachments, if you understand my meaning. You have demonstrated how dedicated a man you can be, but we are not speaking of a months-long liaison. Assuming this ceremony does protect Miss Ives from the witches and we do find some way to defeat them and put this supposed devil off her for good, you will still have devoted a lifetime to her, even after she no longer needs your protection. I cannot help but wonder if her appeal to you will not wane.

"And as for Miss Ives, apart from that unfortunate incident last year, and of course this business of late, she has not demonstrated a need or willingness to seek out others for help, let alone companionship. She is kind, to be sure, but has always seemed content to make her own way. I must confess, I have never particularly thought of her as the marrying kind."

Had he been any other man or said it any other way, the doctor might have found himself on the receiving end of Ethan's fist. But Ethan could not bring himself to feel any anger; if anything, he was only mildly frustrated by Frankenstein's worrying. In many ways, the other man was still a boy unwilling to see his friends parted or irrevocably changed. It was nice, in a way, to know someone was concerned for his happiness, and Vanessa's as well.

He huffed out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair again before turning back to Frankenstein. "There's a lot about Vanessa and me that you don't know. About our pasts, and about how it is between us. We share much that you don't know about, and we're both very aware of where we stand.

"It's like we're two sides of the same coin, to use the old phrase. Each side is different, just as we are, but we're irreversibly melded together and so create a single, whole entity. I don't expect that to mean much to you, but it's the best I can think of to describe why we're willing to do this beyond basic necessity."

Frankenstein was quiet and only stared at Ethan in response, but the older man could see the gears whirling in his scrawny head and knew he could at least make something of what he had said. Ethan raised one corner of his mouth in a half smile.

"Would you think me foolish if I told you I feel married to her already?"

Frankenstein rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Ethan scowled. "Go sit somewhere else."

The doctor shook his head. "You know, I'm certain it's a mortal sin to be spiteful in a church."

"Only maliciously so," came a voice from over Ethan's left shoulder, causing him to jump to his feet and spin around. It was not often someone managed to sneak up on him. But to his relief, it was only Father Goodman, who smiled brightly and held up a thick, leather-bound tome. "I've pulled out my favorite Bible for the occasion. Blessed by Pope Leo himself."

Ethan clasped his hands in front of his waist. "We're happy to have it, Father."

"You're welcome, my son," he nodded before turning to the doctor. "And will this young man be standing up with you?"

"Yes," Ethan replied unhesitantly. Who else did he have?

For his part, Frankenstein's face turned a deep pink all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked down at the floored and seemed unable to speak.

The priest nodded happily. "Very good, very good. Now, do we have any idea as to when to expect the bride? It would not do to be caught in the middle of the ceremony when my parishioners begin arriving for evening prayers."

Ethan took his pocket watch out from his trousers and flicked it open, carefully ignoring the engraving as he checked the time. They had a little less than two hours before the sun set. "Dr. Frankenstein here tells me we can expect them at any time."

No sooner had he said the words than the church door creaked open and Sembene lithely slid in, pulling the door more fully open to reveal Sir Malcolm, still in his suit from the night before, and Vanessa. Father Goodman gave a soft, "Oh!" before moving to stand behind Ethan, giving him a clear view of the three newcomers.

They did not move slowly, gracefully, as a man walking a young woman down the aisle should; Sir Malcolm practically marched Vanessa forward as she hurried to keep up, and Sembene trailed closely in their wake. But as soon as her eyes met Ethan's her face glowed, and Ethan felt a smile slide unto his own face. Her hair was tied in an elegant knot atop her head. Deep blue skirts swished beneath her pale emerald coat. No black. His grin widened.

When at first the two groups converged no one said a word. Sir Malcolm reached in his breast pocket a pulled forth a piece of thick, fine-looking paper and an equally impressive pen.

"Best to get all the formalities out of the way," he said, offering the pen to Father Goodman. As he took it eagerly, Vanessa slipped her hand into Ethan's much larger one. Her gloveless fingers were still chilled from the carriage ride. He squeezed them gently, and she returned his firm grip.

What followed was an awkward shuffling as the priest, the groom, and the bride leaned over the front pew to sign the marriage license against the wooden seat. Ethan kept Vanessa's hand in his as he signed, and when she reluctantly released his to provide her own final signature, she paused at the last 's,' leaving a small blot of ink to punctuate her name.

"I suppose this is the last time I shall sign that name," she wondered quietly, and Ethan couldn't tell if he, Sir Malcolm, or Father Goodman looked more thrilled at the prospect. Frankenstein watched the scene with wide eyes, and Sembene, remarkably, observed them all with a soft expression.

She straightened up, entwining her fingers with Ethan's once more. Sir Malcolm scooped up the license, folded it neatly, and returned it to his pocket, patting it twice for good measure. "I will return myself this in the morning," he said proudly before looking to the priest to indicate that he should proceed.

Father Goodman turned to the young couple. "Are we ready?"

Vanessa moved her hand up the inside of Ethan's arm to place it at the crook of his elbow; he nodded wordlessly. The priest looked between the two of them once more and led them to the altar. Sir Malcolm followed, standing a few feet behind them. Frankenstein moved to stand at Ethan's right, and, to the groom's bemused delight, Sembene took the place beside Vanessa. Father Goodman opened his Bible and began to speak.

The ceremony was essentially a recitation of the traditional Catholic prayers and vows. Ethan didn't mind, for it was easy enough to follow along. Admittedly, he spent as much time listening to the priest as he did looking down at Vanessa. She was the epitome of serenity, so much more like the confident woman who had approached him months beforehand than the weeping, trembling girl he had held that morning. With any luck, he would be seeing much more of this poised, balanced Vanessa in the near future.

When his time came, Ethan repeated his vows after the priest; Vanessa followed suit shortly thereafter. Father Goodman called for the rings to bless, and much to Ethan's surprise Sembene stepped forward, placing two thick bands made of a metal Ethan did not recognize with symbolic engravings he did not comprehend atop the open Bible.

"From my home country," he said to Ethan and Vanessa in turn. "They will bring you both blessings." Vanessa smiled at him appreciatively, and Ethan nodded at him with gratitude as the other man moved to stand beside the bride once more.

The smaller of the two rings was still a little too large for Vanessa's matchstick finger, but Ethan was confident that once they had the situation with the nightcomers under control and she gained back the much-needed weight she had lost in her constant anxiety it would fit beautifully. Her hands were soft and steady as she slid his into place. He watched her face as she did so, so peaceful and lovely. The sun had moved low enough in the sky to shine in through the stained glass window of St. George and the dragon behind Vanessa, creating a kaleidoscope of colors around her head in an odd, variegated halo. She was far from an angel – not that Ethan really expected or wanted her to be – but she was not the darkling she so feared she was becoming, either.

Father Goodman said one final prayer and made the sign of the cross over the two. Vanessa placed her ring-clad hand over the one holding hers on his arm as the priest pronounced them man and wife.

It was not entirely respectable of him, Ethan knew, but he thoroughly did not care; he placed one hand flat against his wife's cheek and bent down to press a light, chaste kiss to her lips. They were soft but resolute beneath his. He pulled back slightly and ran his thumb along her cheekbone, ignoring Frankenstein's uncomfortable cough as he watched her eyes. They sparkled in the iridescent light.

But then a deafening, earsplitting shrieking filled the air, seemingly from nowhere. The ground shook beneath their feet, rocking the church. Father Goodman fell to his knees. Ethan pulled Vanessa flush against him, bending over slightly to protect her in the event debris should start falling. Her fingers clutched at his already snug shirt. He could feel her holding her breath as she stared up into the church's rafters.

Just as quickly as it began, the inhuman screeching and rumbling ceased. Sir Malcolm rose from his crouch beside the pews, and Frankenstein and Sembene stepped onto the altar to pull the good father to his feet. Ethan stood up straighter but kept his arms securely around Vanessa as she released a shaking sigh.

"They know," she whispered, quietly but still loud enough for the others to hear. "Already, they know."

"And we shall be prepared," Sir Malcolm said determinedly behind them.

Ethan studied the angle of the light streaming in from the great windows. "We haven't got much time."

"I would suggest you not delay in consummating the union," Father Goodman advised as he righted his askew robes.

Had the situation been any less dire than it already was, it would have been a highly embarrassing moment, but Ethan, and Vanessa too, it seemed, saw the wisdom in his words. The less irreversible their bond, the safer they would be.

Vanessa moved out of Ethan's arms but left her hand securely in his as she looked up at the old priest. "Thank you, Father," she said with a sad smile. "For all you have done." Ethan murmured his agreement.

Father Goodman gave them a tired smile of his own as he placed a wizened hand against each of their heads. "Bless you, children. Go now in peace. May you walk in the light of Our Lord's grace."

Vanessa bowed her head at his words, and Ethan gave her hand a squeeze. The priest crossed them one final time before they turned away

"Quickly now," Sir Malcolm instructed them, gesturing that they follow him back up the aisle. Frankenstein and Sembene were already making their way to the church door.

Ethan and Vanessa followed Sir Malcolm wordlessly. On the stone steps of the church, Ethan reluctantly relinquished her hand to shut the wooden door behind them. As it drew to a close, Father Goodman, still standing at the altar, raised his hand in a solemn farewell.

* * *

 _Fun Fact: I've forgotten the name of the priest from the season one finale – if he had one to begin with – so I've taken the liberty of naming him after the lovely actor who played him, Mr. Henry Goodman. Now, bear with me. The next chapter is entirely different than anything I've tried before, so I make no promises as to its quality or timeliness. It might take more than a week, which may actually work in all our favors as 2x07 looks to be especially inspirational. Keep an eye out, too, because unless I completely chicken out the rating is going to go up._

 _A special thank you to Tiana of_ fuckyeahvanessaethan _over at_ Tumblr _for her thoughtful recommendation. It is much appreciated._


	3. Part III

_…'Tis a consummation  
_ _Devoutly to be wished._

-Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, III.i.1163-64

* * *

It was a frustrating carriage ride back to the mansion for Ethan. Vanessa for some strange reason had been seated across from him rather than beside, so he could gaze at her but was still unable to touch her. The resulting irritation manifested in a terrible itching sensation across his skin; he needed to touch her, needed to feel her beating heart and the soft in and out of her breathing to reassure himself she was alright.

They watched each other almost unblinkingly for the duration of the trip, his hands gripping his knees, hers folded neatly in her lap. Every so often his eyes would flick down to the ring on her finger and back up again, to which a ghost of a smile would flash across her eyes. The other three remained uncommonly quiet and looked everywhere but the young couple.

They eventually arrived and wordlessly alighted the carriage. Ethan helped Vanessa down and left his hand at the small of her back as they followed the others inside. Sir Malcolm bolted the door behind them; Sembene took their coats back to the closet; Frankenstein appeared to make a beeline for Sir Malcolm's liquor cabinet, leaving the gentleman alone in the entry with the newlyweds.

Sir Malcolm looked at them expectantly but said nothing. Ethan looked down at Vanessa and back at the older man, but still nothing was said. Sir Malcolm gestured to the upper floor with a jerk of his head.

"We've less than an hour until sunset." He looked pointedly from Ethan to Vanessa and back again and made an odd movement with his hand.

What had seemed obvious and sensible coming from the kindly priest was uncomfortable and somehow perverse when suggested by Sir Malcolm. Ethan, and Vanessa too, could not respond. She looked down at the marble floor, her lips parted.

Ethan couldn't think of any way to proceed. "Right," he gulped. "We'll—" But there was not really any more to say, so with the gentlest pressure to Vanessa's back he guided her to the staircase. Neither looked back as they climbed silently to the top.

He didn't take to her own room. He couldn't. Since that terrible night, Ethan had come to hate the place. The fresh new wallpaper only served to remind him of the unadulterated terror in her eyes as she had shredded away the old. When he looked at the bed all he could see was her tied across it, her arms and legs agonizingly bent to prevent movement. The floor still bore the stains from her self-inflicted wounds. How many times had she awoken him in the dead of night with her sobs, her fears of demonic violation? The room, for all her insistence in remaining its resident, was irrevocably tainted in his eyes, haunted by the memory of the demons they had yet to conquer. On this night, perhaps the most important night yet of their eventful lives, he didn't want either of their minds on anything but one another. If he had it his way, his wife would not spend another night in that room.

Dear God, his _wife_.

They came to a halt outside the closed door of his guest room. Vanessa looked up at him silently, her blue eyes wide with trust and confidence and just a hint of wonder. His hand slid up and down the ridges of her back as he turned the knob, pushing the door open. She gazed up at him again, wordlessly asking which one should take the first step forward. Taking a split decision, Ethan bent slightly to swing her up into his arms, cradling her to him like the bride she was.

"I think it best we observe as many traditions as possible, don't you?" he deadpanned to her slightly shocked face before cracking into a wide grin. She laughed brightly as he carried her into his bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind them.

For a long moment he stood motionlessly, looking down into her eyes as she stared up at him, her arms looped around his neck. A minimal degree of color had returned to her face since the early hours of the morning. The beast within him cried out for him to throw her to the bed and take her in the most feral, narcissistic way possible, but he resisted with no small amount of effort. He wanted her to understand how important the impending moments were to him, how committed he was to her. He couldn't allow her to set the pace any longer, but at the same time he refused to scare her or hurt her. He would not be able to live with himself if he did.

"We should draw the curtains," she whispered, and he reluctantly set her down and went to the window. He pulled the thin, gauzy inner panel closed but left the thicker brocade open so the dying light of the sun could filter in. Sir Malcolm was right, they hadn't nearly enough time.

Vanessa watched him still when he turned around. No candles were lit, so the shadowy light swathed her in grey, the blue of her dress very nearly black. She came to him, her features neutral but her eyes burning with more emotions than Ethan could pick out. Her hands went to his chest, tentative at first before pressing flat against him. His pulse quickened, and he was sure she could feel it. His own hands grasped at her waist of their own accord as she slid her palms up to his collar, her deft little fingers soundlessly undoing his top button.

"This shirt is comical," she breathed, the corner of her mouth turning up. "Forgive me."

His eyelids fluttered and he wanted so urgently in that moment to kiss her, but her head was bent over her hands to watch her work. So he ran his own hands up her sides, reveling in the involuntary shudder she did not acknowledge, and set about unfastening the buttons at her back. As elegantly as she always dressed, it seemed her gowns were inordinately easy to get out of.

By the time he slid the last button out of place she had finished with his borrowed shirt and moved to the cotton undershirt beneath, her cool fingers sporadically brushing against the warm skin of his chest. He had to force himself not to suck in a breath and wildly thought he would have to find some way to return the shirt to the priest.

The back of her dress hung open as her fingers danced along the buttons pressing against his stomach. He jerked ever so slightly at an unexpected sweep of her fingertips over the tight skin there and wanted to pull her against him but settled instead for gliding his own hands up her back to cup her shoulders, his fingers working at the edges of her dress until it fell away. She drew her hands back for an impatient moment, letting the gown crumple uncaringly to the floor and stepping out of her shoes before moving back to touch him. Her hands pressed flat against him once more, moving underneath his open shirtfront.

The loss of the shoes left her several inches shorter than before, her head level with the center of his chest. Ethan marveled at how much he enjoyed dwarfing her, knowing he could gather her so entirely in his arms. He let his head fall forward so he could smell her hair. For all the filth and mist of the city, she reminded him of the countryside and grassy fields of his youth. His left hand moved to clasp the nape of her neck while the right went to her hair, expertly pulling away pins and dropping them down to disappear in the puddle of her dress. Her hair felt like ravens wings as it spun down into a veil about her face.

Vanessa's hands had moved up to rest against his broad shoulder, pushing at the restricting fabric there. He begrudgingly removed his hands from her to shrug off his suspenders and both shirts, leaving them to hang loosely from his waistband. She stepped closer to press herself to him, standing on her toes so that her hand rested against the back of his neck. Her mouth was warm against his skin as she murmured his name into his collarbone, half child, half Delilah. He didn't bother to stop the tremor that ran through his body as his hands flew to her spine, spasming against her unneeded corset. He lent down to nudge her ear with his mouth as his fingers worked at her laces.

"This isn't how I wanted this to happen," he whispered throatily. "And believe me when I tell you I've thought this through more times than I can count." She trembled slightly against him, turning her head to lean it even more firmly against him.

"I wanted hours and hours with you. I wanted to hold you to me and touch every inch of you first, kiss you again and again until you couldn't bear it anymore. I wanted to tell you everything first, all my secrets, every darkness and lightness of my soul, and I hate that we've been robbed of that along with everything else. But I want you to know that none of it, any of it, changes how much I want you here, how much I want you."

The corset fell to the floor with a muffled thump. His eyes closed as he held her to him, his arms protecting her from imagined demons. "God help me, Vanessa, I couldn't love you more if I tried."

His skin stifled her dry sob. She turned her head, rubbing her nose along his sternum. Her hands were tight at his rib cage.

"I'm afraid," she breathed weakly against his chest, the air blowing over his skin.

He swallowed thickly and peered down at the top of her head. "Of me?" he asked softly, echoing his own question from that morning.

Her response was the same as before. "Not of you. Nothing could ever make me fear you." She shook her head slightly, her hair tickling his exposed skin. "I am afraid of myself."

He moved his hands up to cup her face, gently applying pressure so that she pulled back to stare up at him. He looked down at her quizzically, and her eyes closed in quiet, private pain. She glanced down when they opened seconds later before rising her eyes back up to meet his, flashing damp and wide in the dim light. He heard more than felt her pulse flutter worryingly. Her chin quivered.

"You must know by now that I'm not...that I have already..."

"That doesn't matter to me," he reassured her quickly. It would be hypocritical of him to hold something like that against her. "It never would."

She nodded. "I know that. That isn't the man you are. You have never judged me, and I will always, always be grateful to you for that. But that isn't what I meant.

"I have told you something of my affliction, of how it always starts. This is the moment. This is when it claws its way out of me. Just when I lose myself in a man, or let him lose himself in me, it takes me. It senses when I forget myself, even for the smallest instant, and it forces its way out from deep within my mind. It hurts."

Her voice broke and she shook in his arms, but still she continued. "You saw me the last time, what it did to me. What I almost did. I cannot lose myself again, Ethan, I can't. And so am I afraid. I have never loved a man before, not as I love you. I don't want to become that thing again, not now. Not when I have you. I'm so afraid. Help me, please."

In that moment he saw her before him as she had looked that day with her sweat-laden hair stuck to her face and her filthy nightdress clinging to her skeletal form and her cracked lips smeared with blood, when she had begged him to take her life for her. Not a night had passed since that the image hadn't come to him as he lay awake in the dark, trying to forget the words she had spoken and the fact that she lay just down the hall, alone and nearly unprotected and so very vulnerable to the night. He choked back the lump forming in his throat and rubbed his hands up and down her back and shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"That won't happen again, not this time. Not with me. I won't let that thing take you again."

She looked at him desperately, as though she wanted to believe him but couldn't quite.

"I forced it out of you before," he reminded her.

"After it had already come forth."

He drew her closer. She pressed her head over his heart. "It won't happen again," he all but growled.

"How?" came her quiet voice. "Please. How will you keep me here? How will you keep me with you?"

Something inside him broke at her pitiful words, and before he realized what he had done his hands were grasping her to him and his mouth was firm and insistent against hers. Whether out of surprise or desire he could not tell, but she opened her mouth to him, welcoming his hot tongue as it took control of hers. Her fingers where everywhere on his face: threading through his hair, brushing along his brow, down his cheeks, caressing his semblance of a beard. He clutched at her, wanting her as close as humanly possible. He kicked off his boots and didn't realize he was walking her backward to the bed until the backs of her legs made contact with its side, forcing her to stop short and gasp into his mouth.

He pulled back but held her fast, acutely aware that she stood before him in nothing but her stockings and the thin white shift she wore under her wedding dress.

She stared up at him, breathing heavily, her hands gripping his shoulders in askance. He trailed his hands up her back to her face before skimming down her sides, brushing her shoulders, her breasts, her waist before settling at her hips.

"Trust me," he pleaded, circling her hipbone with his thumb.

She looked inflamed and wary all at once, but she nodded, her eyes never wavering from his. Ethan released the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

He sank to his knees before her, never breaking their gaze. His hands resumed their path down her body, tracing her thighs, her knees, all the way down to her ankles, then moving back up and vanishing beneath her dress. They continued upward until they reached the tops of her stockings, his fingers brushing the place where fabric met skin. She didn't tremble, didn't suck in a breath; she continued to stare down at him. Her hands moved to his hair, threading her fingers through his silky locks. A small, encouraging smile graced her lips. He hooked his fingers in the dark gray fabric and tugged both stockings down simultaneously. Her nails scratched his scalp as she stepped out of them.

"Trust me," he whispered again, sounding more like a little boy than he would have liked.

Vanessa's smile widened and she nodded in reply. His arms went around her thighs, lifting her up as he stood. She laughed – happily, he thought – as he let her tumble to the bed, her dark hair fanning out around her. He unfastened the button at his waist, letting his trousers fall away as he moved over her to rest in the cradle of her hips. His hands were on her thighs again, pushing the linen of her shift up to pool at her waist. She watched him as he moved, her eyes raking over him in a way that set his skin aflame. She sat up slightly to tug the dress over her head, tossing it somewhere beyond his line of sight before falling back against the mattress.

Ethan leaned over her so that their skin was flush from their chests to their thighs. She widened her legs around his, bending them slightly to draw him closer. He stifled a groan at the contact and lowered himself down to kiss her once more, slowly this time, purposefully, as he rested his weight on his forearms.

Her eyes had closed when he kissed her and stayed so for several seconds after he drew back. They opened slowly and blearily, questioningly. He rocked slowly over her until he held her face fast between his hands, keeping it still. She stared up at him, her eyes so very close.

"Whatever happens," he murmured over her mouth, "whatever you start to feel, don't look away. Keep your eyes on me. Stay with me."

Vanessa continued to gaze up at him unnervingly for half a moment before giving the smallest of nods. He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes never leaving hers, and in one swift movement was inside her.

She made no sound, gave no cry, but her almost inaudible intake of breath was enough to nearly make him lose his mind then and there. When he began to move, her hands flew up to clamp around his shoulders, pulling him more firmly to her. But she kept her eyes fixed on his, only moving her head to press a kiss to his left thumb while the right stroked her cheek.

He wanted so very badly to bury his face against her neck, to touch and taste every part of her he could reach. Her skin was suddenly much warmer than he had ever known it to be. He wanted dreadfully to let himself go, to lose himself in the feel of her, to love her unhesitatingly. But he knew he couldn't, not yet. Not until she began to trust herself as she trusted him.

So he kept his hands locked around her face, kept her gaze firmly connected to his so that her mind couldn't wander. If he kept her with him in this moment, the demon inside her would find no means by which to slither through her fixed control. But his resolve crumbled when she began to move beneath him, her hips tilting up to meet his, her left hand gripping the back of his neck. Her eyes began to flicker, as if trying to roll up again strict restraint. He whispered her name, but it came out more a growl than the gentle reproof he had intended.

Without even fully thinking through his actions, Ethan lurched back to kneel on the covered bed, hauling Vanessa up with him so that she was splayed across his lap, never once breaking their connection. Her legs locked around his waist, seemingly of their own volition. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between a squeak and a moan, her eyes round with surprise and desire. They did finally roll back, and Ethan could feel her begin to quiver and spasm around him.

He held her jaw with one hand, her chin resting in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand dropped to her hip, holding her steady as she began to shake. He susurrated her name again, the word hissing out from between clenched teeth, his hand traveling across her lower back to grip her other hip, pulling her closer so that her stomach stroked against his as they moved to the rhythm he so carefully set. Her shuddering lessened and he felt her relax against him, her eyes eventually opening lazily to peer down at him. They were hazy and slightly bloodshot, but they were calm and still entirely, perfectly Vanessa.

But Ethan could feel himself rapidly begin to lose control. If his skin had been aflame before, it was now trapped in a raging inferno. He gave in to his baser instincts, pulling Vanessa closer to push his face into the soft skin of her throat. The fingertips that had been trembling on his chest were suddenly everywhere, brushing against his hair, his face, his shoulders, soothing and egging on his ferment all at once. His hips lost their cadence, jerking sporadically beneath her. He wanted to look into her eyes again, to make certain she was still with him, but his muscles refused to move his face away from her neck.

She said something to him, words that were familiar but in his fevered daze incomprehensible. She said them again, one hand threading itself through his hair as his vision went white and he lost sense of everything besides the fiery heat coursing through him and the weight of her body pressing down wonderfully on his.

It was several long moments before he could hear anything beyond his panting and the inconsistent pounding of his pulse in his ears, but when the haze began to recede she was still speaking, murmuring a patternless chant of his name and professions of adoration as her long fingers stroked his hair.

He stayed cleaved to her for another moment before pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat and leaning his head back enough to gaze up at her face. With a lurch he realized this was how he always wanted her: held flush against him, her head just a little higher than his so he could gaze on her in reverence. The light had become almost unbearably dim, but that had never been much of a problem for Ethan, especially now that he was looking up at his wife.

She was so much lovelier than anything he had ever before beheld. Her skin was flushed, he could tell even in the dark. Her head was tilted forward so her hair fell across both their shoulders. Her eyes were closed again, and he could make out two perfectly straight tracks of tears cut across her cheeks. A wave of sickening regret jolted through him; he reached up to rub them away and tuck one side of her mused hair behind her ear.

Vanessa's eyes opened slowly, languidly, as if she were savoring the sensation. She smiled radiantly and removed one small hand from his hair to press his more firmly against her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice catching and somehow far away. "I hate seeing you cry."

But her smile grew and she nuzzled her face into their hands. "These are happy tears." Her other hand traced a now familiar path through his sweat-slicked hair. "I'm still here," she whispered, her eyes more tender than he had thought possible. "You didn't let me go."

She kissed his palm, then his wrist, and he snaked a hand behind her head to pull her down for another kiss, deep and slow. He sighed into her mouth, relief washing over him. She hummed contently.

Ethan's heart slowed to a steady beat. But as it did, he became intensely aware of a faint but familiar metallic taste along the backs of his teeth. The hand stroking her spine seized. His head jerked back, his eyes running over her face, her neck, searching...

He moved his fingers around her throat to caress the juncture where the delicate skin merged into shoulder. She watched him, adopting a curious stillness. Vanessa drew in a sharp, hissing breath as his fingers grazed a series of indentations and a few tiny spots of broken skin.

A horrible sinking feeling swept over him, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea. For all his efforts to keep Vanessa's complications under control, he had been the one to give in to his inner demons. He circled the still-warm skin with the pad of his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing way.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, fighting back the urge to let his own remorseful tears fall. "I'm so, so sorry."

Vanessa shook her head, her curls bouncing off his chest and shoulders. "I wanted you to do it."

"Why?" he asked in abject disbelief. "I could have hurt you."

"No, I don't believe you could." She smiled, simple and loving, and working her fingers through his hair to cup his head has he had hers.

"You are not only a man, Ethan. You are so much more than that. And I want to be wife to all of you."

A hard, immoveable lump formed against his Adam's apple, and he tightened the arm that held her to him. She bent down to press kisses against his brow, his eyes, his cheeks. Her body curved over his so her head rested against his shoulder.

"I am yours, and you are mine in every possible way."

Her arms tangled themselves around his neck. The hand at her neck trailed down her front, caressing her collarbone and down along the valley of her breasts between them to lay flat against her pinched stomach. No, not in every way. It was a thought which had wormed its way into his mind alongside the idea of marrying her. If the Devil wanted her for his bride, Ethan would make her his own first. If the Devil wanted her to bear his child...

The very notion terrified him, and he knew if he were to voice it to Vanessa she would be petrified. It had taken all the rhetoric he possessed to convince her to marry him; broaching such a topic, given its far greater implications, could potentially intimidate her into drawing back in on herself, and that was a risk Ethan was not yet prepared to take. But at the same time, he couldn't help the warm, irrational flicker of hope that began to burn deep within the most secret part of his chest. And Vanessa, it seemed, understood; he felt her lips turn up as she pressed her face more determinedly into the weathered skin of his neck.

Ethan nestled his head against her shoulder and for the first time in what felt like hours took his eyes off Vanessa. The curtain was barely visible; the sun had set. He released a long breath and took one last moment to luxuriate in the feel of her skin cooling against his. "We made it."

She raised her head up to follow his gaze. "It won't be long now," she said quietly, her hands moving down to grasp his shoulders. "We've made them angry; they will come as soon as they are able."

"I'm ready," he said, low and resolute. And he was. He meant to stay true to what he had promised her that morning; no longer would he hold anything back against their foes.

Vanessa gave him one last smile – one more distant than before, but still warm – and eased herself off him, her legs sliding over his as she stood. A rush of cold air instantly assaulted him, and immediately he missed the feel of her weight pressing down on him. He watched her as she made her way to his bureau, trying to memorize the curve of her back and the jut of her hips. She opened a drawer and pulled out her long black floral robe. Vanessa turned to smile at him over her shoulder.

"I took the liberty while everyone was out earlier. I didn't think you would mind."

Ethan smirked as she turned back to working at the robe's fastenings. Perhaps he wouldn't have to convince her to quit her bedroom after all. With a resigned sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his much-abused knees protesting loudly. He snatched his trousers up from the floor as he strode to the washing stand in the darkened corner to clean himself off.

When he looked up from buttoning his trousers he found his wife watching him, her arms wrapped around herself and her expression remote. He said her name quietly as he slipped the suspenders over his shoulders, and she met his gaze with troubled eyes.

"Tell me it will not always be this way," she begged so faintly a normal man would not have heard her. "Tell me there will come a time when I may spend the whole night in your arms without fear of danger or torment."

Ethan wanted desperately to tell her those things and more. He wanted to cross the room in four great strides, take her up in his arms, and promise her everything he had ever had and ever would. He wanted to whisk her somewhere far, far away, where they could live like a normal man and woman and have the luxury of contemplating endless hours together and plans for a future and propagation.

And he might have had the sudden, stomach-churning sensation of ice running down his body not overcome him. Vanessa's posture stiffened and her eyes widened in horror, her arms falling to her sides. They had felt this before.

Ethan held a finger to his lips and raised his other hand in warning, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the door. She looked as though she wanted to draw back into the darkness of the corner but knew the better of it. He should have taken the time to light the candles.

Vanessa was shaking, her terror evident, but she continued to watch him, waiting for his instructions. He dropped his arms and widened his stance. They only had a few seconds more.

"Whatever happens," he said, his voice dropping as low as it went, "no matter what I do, you stay back. Promise me."

She looked at him sadly for half a second before acquiescing silently.

Ethan bowed his head and clenched his fists. The wolf roared within him, but instinctively he forced it back. His muscles tightened, his knees bent. He had worked so long to keep the monster at bay. But now he summoned up his rage, his panic. He looked at his wife, his perfect siren of a wife, and let every ounce of love and lust and loyalty he possessed wash over him.

Pain flowed into white hot animalism as he felt his bones begin to elongate, his skin shift searingly.

He felt the door burst open more than saw it. A piercing screeching filled the air. Vanessa jumped back into the corner; he could see her chest heaving and her fingers splaying outward. She looked as she had in the carriage the night he had foolishly considered leaving her, and he knew it was his time to act.

Vanessa looked back at him, stooped as he was. Her tearful eyes were the last thing he saw before the world exploded in a violent, blinding vermilion.

* * *

 _This chapter was brought to you by sangria, the later albums of Pulp, and the promo for tonight's episode. Ho_ _t damn. My monster babies are trying to kill me. Regardless, this has been the penultimate chapter; the final one will appear sometime next week. And please do forgive me for taking_ Hamlet _so grossly out of context._

 _Also, fun fact: the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold dates back many, many centuries. Most sources believe it originated back when bride-capture was a popular means of attaining a wife and she had to be forced into the house by her captor-husband, but it took on additional significance as time wore on. My two personal favorite traditions necessitate it as a means of protecting the wife's chastity by making her appear not so eager to lose her virginity or as a superstitious means of warding off evils spirits trying to enter the marital home before the bride and groom. Or, in this case, the marital guest room._


	4. Part IV

_And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,_  
 _With Atë by his side come hot from hell,_  
 _Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice_  
 _Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war_

-Julius Caesar, III.i.285-89

* * *

He knew his mouth itched before he could open his eyes, an immovable, woolly sensation he knew all too well. His body felt heavy yet raw, and his muscles ached down to the bone.

Ethan knew instantly what had happened; he had been down this road too many times before. It would take some time for his body to answer to his mind. Instead of attempting to regain complete consciousness, he focused his energy on remember how he had gotten to this point. He knew the beast had taken control – that much was evident – and he never could remember what happened once he began to attack. It was what had occurred before that was the blur he needed to unravel.

He knew he had married Vanessa; that memory was etched deep within his mind, and he would cherish the image of the light shining off her hair as they stood at the altar until the day he died. And he knew they had made it back to the mansion, but the details thereafter were indistinct. It was as if his memories were a pool from which he had to fish out images and string them together into some form of coherence. He could see himself carrying Vanessa into his bedroom; her wedding dress slipping from her shoulders to the floor; her pressed so completely against him, her hair a curtain around both their heads.

More and more flashes of memory merged into a true recollection until finally Ethan could play back the night before in its entirety. And he did, over and over again until he found he didn't want to stop. There would be consequences for his giving up control to the monster within him; there always were. It was childish and more than a little irresponsible, but Ethan could not bring himself to face whatever he had done when he could live in the memory of the first perfect two hours of his marriage.

He was still unbearably warm, though, to the point that if he was conscious he knew he would be shaking. Ethan could feel his control slipping, his body beginning to rouse itself from its post-transformative stupor. He didn't want to respond to it, to awake and have to answer to himself.

But then something smooth and cool ran along his face, then again, spreading to several points on his skin. He knew this feeling, recognized this touch. His ears registered sporadic sounds, but he couldn't make out what they were. The delicate feeling returned to his face, and all at once Ethan's eyes flew open and his hand reached out, grabbing something soft and silky.

Vanessa was hovering over him, her eyes astonishingly blue and clear. Her hands were on his face, tracing comforting patterns into his flushed skin. His hand had encircled her upper arm, wrinkling her robe.

When he jerked awake her hands had fallen down to his bare chest. Instinct attempted to sit him up before he was conscious of his body doing so, but she gently pushed him back into the cushions.

"Lie back," she murmured. "Not so fast."

"Whasgoinon?" he slurred, his eyes darting around, trying to discern where he was.

"It's alright," she whispered soothingly, her fingers rubbing circles into his skin. "You're alright. We all are."

He let her hands guide him back down, his eyes finally focusing on her. She was sitting beside his reclining form; he could feel her thigh against his ribs. He caught one of her wrists in his larger hand. "You're okay?" he mumbled.

"Yes," she smiled, sliding her free hand up his heated skin to clasp at his neck momentarily before brushing over his face again, moving his hair out of his eyes. "Good morning."

His fuzzy vision began to clear, and he realized he was lying on one of the leather sofas in the parlour, a woolen blanket strewn over his half-naked body. The fire blazed exceptionally high on the hearth. "Or very nearly that," she quietly amended.

Ethan fixed his eyes on her face, a soft smile playing on her lips and her eyes bright with something like triumph. She had pulled her hair half up so that it still cascaded over her shoulder and down her right arm, stopping just above his clinging hand. He swept his eyes over her in a quick appraisal. She still wore the black robe she had donned in his guest room, which though mused was still intact. Her skin was glowing, from the heat of the fire or her obvious emotion Ethan could not say. In fact, the only real evidence she bore of surviving an attack was a clean and shallow scrape on her left cheekbone.

He tried to raise his hand to inspect her injury, but his fine motor skills had yet to fully return and his missed, instead bringing his hand to curve around the nape of her neck.

"Did I hurt you?" The ache from the night before blossomed once more in his stomach, the sickening fear that he had caused her pain.

But her lips still smiled and her eyes were bright. She took his face more determinedly between her hands. "No. Oh Ethan, no. Just the opposite."

One hand skimmed across his temple as she ran her fingers through his parted hair. "You saved me. You saved us all."

He stared up at her silently for a long moment, searching her expression for any evidence of her placating him. But Vanessa looked at him so fondly, so lovingly that he knew she was not protecting him from his own monstrosity. He loosened his grip on her arm, allowing his hand to move down to gently entrap her elbow. "What happened?"

Her brow furrowed slightly. "You remember nothing?"

"Not after I...changed. I never do."

Ethan knew he should have prepared her for what he was going to become. If he were half the man she seemed convinced he was he would have told her the extent of his affliction long before asking her to marry him. It was one thing to know that he changed into something violent, that he was this Wolf of God; it was another thing entirely to know that her husband could shift his body into that of a deformed wolf with or without his consent. Vanessa should have known that he had no power to control the beast within him once it took over, that he could not predict what it would do any more than he could remember it afterward.

He had been ashamed. Needlessly, he knew, but he had lived all his life with the fear not only of the wolf but what it could do to those he loved. Vanessa had once told him she would accept him regardless of what he was, and he knew in the moment that she had she would someday know and see him at his worst, but selfishly he wanted her to continue to see him as a kind man, a man who would never put her in harm's way. And after bearing witness to her own demons, he hadn't wanted to burden her with any more darkness.

But from the soft expression of love on her face and the tenderness of her fingers stoking the outer shell of his ear, Ethan knew he had been wrong to doubt any part of her.

"I was right, before," she said softly, her fingers never ceasing their soothing ministrations. "The nightcomers came for you, not me. They made it clear you were their target from the start; you were the only one they truly attacked."

Her eyes dropped from his face to his chest, watching its steady rise and fall. He applied the barest pressure to her neck until she glanced back at his eyes. Ethan thought the hesitation might be out of fear, but the crease of her brow and the resoluteness of her gaze conveyed only concern. He had regained almost full control of his fingers and used then to knead gently, encouragingly into her skin.

"What did I do, Vanessa?" he asked lowly.

She smoothed over his moustache with her thumb before opening her mouth to speak. "There were three of them, as there have been each time before, each as wretched as the next. They blew past the door as you were...shifting, shall I say? As you were shifting. Sembene looked once it was all over, and it appears they entered first through my bedroom, though I am unsure as to how."

A growl rumbled up from deep within Ethan's chest. "You're not sleeping in there again."

Vanessa's eyes changed, not to outrage or indignation but to a certain playfulness. She shifted to lean more completely over him, her hair dangling between them. "Why would I?"

The primal part of Ethan that still retained a weakening control over him begged for her, demanded he seize her and pull her to him and finish all the desperate passions he had longed to reach with her the night before. But Vanessa straightened slightly, her visage sobering, and he gulped, wresting control back from the beast. He inclined his head to indicate that she continue.

"They came for you. Unequivocally. They spared me a parting glance and that was all. You lunged for them as soon as they broke through the door."

"What did I look like?" he wondered aloud.

She palmed his cheek lightly, her brow furrowing. "Yourself, but more. You stayed upright like a man, and your features remained entirely your own, but different. Your face was more similar to a hound's, and your eyes...changed. Your hair grew until it was like fur. Your hands were different, more like talons than fingers." She ran the pads of her fingers over his mouth. "You had fangs – no, not fangs, but your teeth were those of a carnivore."

His hands shook even as he held fast to her skin. "Were you afraid?"

Vanessa blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears. "No. I have and will always feel nothing but safe with you. Even as the wolf you made no semblance of a move to hurt me. You defended me, Ethan. You forced the nightcomers away from me as a hound herds sheep. They did not once touch me."

She reached behind her to gingerly lift his hand from around her neck and mold his palm to her injured cheek, her hand still cupping his. "This was my own folly. I leapt out of the way and threw myself into the banister. I had thought, perhaps, the _verbis diablo_ might come forth from me and force them out as it has before, but there was no need.

"Whatever the nightcomers expected you to be, they obviously underestimated you. Ethan, the terror in their eyes when they saw you as the wolf...They attacked you still, but more reservedly than I have ever seen.

"You chased them from the guest room and into the hall; the other men were waiting. It seems that they are not perturbed by guns, but knives are dangerous to them. Regardless, they were most afraid of your claws. You leapt at them as they did you. It does not seem that they were able to do you any harm, but you can rip their flesh. All three were wounded in some capacity; Sembene afforded them a few gashes with his machete as well.

"Two escaped the mansion; it is likely they are regrouping with their master. I know not what they will do next, but I doubt they will risk an outright attack again any time soon."

"And the third?" Ethan asked. "What of the third nightcomer?"

Vanessa turned her head to press her lips reverently to his calloused palm. "You killed her, Ethan," she murmured into his skin before leaning her cheek back into his hand, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. "You killed her. Or you did at least as far as one of those atrocities can be killed. You ripped her chest open and she bled out onto the marble. Dr. Frankenstein has been examining the body ever since."

"And what did I do after it was dead? Did I attack anyone else?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, no one. The two escaped while you were dispatching the third. Once you were satisfied she was dead you howled and collapsed. You did not move once after that; Sir Malcolm and Sembene carried you here after your body was as it normally is. I washed away the blood and grime from the nightcomers, but you still slept on. I assumed you would wake when you were ready."

Her fingers gripped at his skin. "Do not try to blame yourself for things you have not done, Ethan. I won't have it. The only thing you did this night was stay true to the vows you made me."

He had to look away from her, guilt bubbling up from the pit of his stomach like bile, despite her protestations. His eyes followed his hand as it glided down from her elbow to grip her hipbone through her robe. Only then could he meet her gaze.

"I should have done something much sooner," he admitted gruffly. "I knew I was hesitating, that I wasn't doing all I could to protect you, and I'm sorry. I could have saved you weeks of torment had I only been able to let go of my pride and my shame."

Vanessa shook her head again, her fingers tight in his hair as she leaned over him once more. "I know what it is to fear the things that live inside us, that hurt us. Never apologize to me for that. I hold nothing against you and I never will."

"I didn't want you to think of me as a monster."

The tears returned unbidden to her eyes, making Ethan's heart clench. She stroked her fingers along the curve of his cheek, sliding them down until she cradled his chin in the bed of her fingers. "You are no monster, Ethan Chandler. You are beautiful. You are more than a man, but you are anything but a monster. You are my protector."

She nudged closer to him, the hand at her hip spasming at her words. With the light of the fire glowing behind her she looked nothing short of salvation. "Perhaps that is why you carry this weight, why you of all men were chosen. Perhaps you were always meant to keep me safe."

"Like fate?" he croaked.

She paused for half a moment, stroking the underside of his jaw before she answered. "I still don't know, but I believe I'm open to the possibility."

There were no more words Ethan could say, no thoughts or actions which could convey the emotions raging through him as he stared up into her overflowing eyes. He had never dared to hope someone could say such things to him and believe them so sincerely, least of all her. All the things he wished to tell her before they were wed – words of love and longing and inevitability – caught in his throat. So in one sweeping movement he sat up, the blanket falling away, and pulled her fully onto his lap. His right hand buried itself in her thick curls while the other wrapped all the way around her back to clutch her opposite hip, holding her to him. One of her arms snaked around him, wedging itself firmly between the leather of the upholstery and the burning skin of his back. Her left hand flattened over the bare skin of his chest.

Vanessa leaned heavily against him, her legs coming up to twist over his knees beneath her robe. For once, she was warm against him. He raked the tip of his nose over her forehead, pressing kisses along her hairline, hoping those small tokens of his feelings might communicate his love and pride and awe and appreciation better than words ever could. Ethan felt her cheek turn up against his chest as she smiled, his own face still pushed into her hair. He leaned his head back enough to fit his chin over her head, bringing her even closer as his hand left her hip to peel hers from his chest. A contented sigh blew out of her nose as he traced the band of her ring with his fingertips, feeling the symbols cut into the metal. He wrapped his hand around her own so that the two rings pressed together.

"I told you you would be blessed."

Sembene, with his catlike movements, managed to enter the parlour without Ethan's notice, a full tea service in hand. He nodded at their joined hands, seemingly unperturbed by their current position, as he set the tea down on the coffee table. Vanessa made no move to leave Ethan's lap but sat up straighter, her weight shifting on his thighs. Sembene stood as motionless as always, his eyes expectant. Ethan cleared his throat.

"Sembene, I want to thank you for what you did last night. And I want to apologize for not telling you what exactly to expect."

Sembene folded his hands behind his back. "I saw nothing last night to disturb me. Nature is wise, Ethan Chandler; for poisons, there are antidotes. For stormy nights, there are clear mornings. For evil, there is a counter, a means by which an abomination might be destroyed. This is what I witnessed last night. This, and nothing more." He lowered his head, a slow, stately movement Ethan could never hope to replicate. "I am glad you are here, my friend."

Vanessa squeezed his hand as if in agreement, and Ethan felt something stir inside him. Their reactions were so far from what he had expected, so different from what he himself had always thought of the wolf. All he could do was thank Sembene as sincerely as he could, his arms holding tight to Vanessa in wordless gratitude. Sembene nodded once more and gestured to the tea.

"It is nearly morning, and there is still much to be done. I made a cake yesterday afternoon to celebrate your marriage, but in the excitement it was left waiting. Perhaps we will eat it for breakfast."

"That sounds wonderful, Sembene," Vanessa said smoothly.

Frankenstein chose that moment to enter the parlour, an apron tied around his waist and his hands covered by long, stained gloves.

"We might want to hold off on the cake just yet," he said to Sembene before narrowing his eyes at Ethan and Vanessa. "This will be a regular occurrence, I suppose?"

Ethan smirked and stiffened his hand at Vanessa's waist. "Probably."

She smiled cheekily as the doctor rolled his eyes. "What news do you have, doctor?"

He sighed histrionically and let his arms hand loosely at his sides. "You'll want to come and see this. The sun is up, but there has been no change."

Vanessa nodded, slid gracefully from atop Ethan, and rose to her feet. "I asked Victor to leave the body somewhere where the morning light might shine on it. I thought perhaps her true form would not be able to withstand the light of day."

"We won't know if it's really dead until the body is destroyed," Ethan said as he pulled the wool blanket over his naked shoulders. Dark stains smeared his ruined trousers, the only marker that he had engaged in battle only hours before. Vanessa had been very thorough.

"Precisely."

"Only the sunlight didn't finish the job," Frankenstein supplied. "The corpse is still exactly as I left it. Have a look."

He turned and proceeded into the entry, indicating that the others follow.

"You left it sitting in the hall?" Ethan asked incredulously.

"Didn't want any more stains on the carpet," was Sembene's definitive reply.

Several old sheets had been thrown around the bottom of the staircase, and resting on them was a blackened mass of flesh. Ethan's stomach churned. Its face was nothing but a series of deep gashes; its chest was torn wide open from neck to groin, a putrid, dark sludge splattering the gaping cavity.

"Did I do that?" he asked hoarsely as the four circled the corpse.

Frankenstein shook his head. "Not entirely, no. I personally expanded on much of the damage you inflicted as I attempted to perform an autopsy."

Vanessa ran a soothing hand up and down her husband's arm. "Attempted?"

"Yes," Frankenstein replied excitedly as he crouched down beside the body. "I thought perhaps if we had a better idea of how these creatures are formed we might have an easier time killing them. They appear very humanlike, as you can see, but when I looked farther inside I found no blood, no organs, only this black mess. It's as though everything inside it died, petrified, and liquefied.

"We see effects very similar to this when dealing with consumption," he continued, gesturing to the hollow place where lungs should have been. "The disease destroys the tissue, causing it to die and rot into something not unlike soup. I have never seen it affect an entire body, though. It's actually very fascinating."

He gave Ethan an appraising look. "What I would really like to do is examine you, Mr. Chandler. You obviously suffer from some form of biological mutation that manifests itself in episodes like the one we witnessed last night."

"You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Doc."

Frankenstein huffed and turned back to the corpse, seemingly letting the subject drop. Ethan was amazed at how simple it had been, how easy it was for the doctor to acknowledge his curse and then dismiss it as nothing more than a casual quirk. It shocked him just as readily as Sembene's acceptance as it warmed his soul. Vanessa, sensing his conflict, placed a small, comforting hand in his own.

"Regardless," Frankenstein said, "it appears the sun does nothing to destroy the physical body. If indeed mauling it and spreading it open is not enough to completely kill it."

Vanessa stared down at the broken nightcomer. "In hagiographies, we are taught the only way to completely kill a holy person is through beheading. If it works well enough for someone touched by God, would it not do just as well for something truly unholy?"

"It's worth a shot," Ethan agreed.

Sembene turned silently from the group and made his way down the hall to the kitchen. The other three watched him go, still surveying the hall as they conversed.

"Sir Malcolm wasn't injured, was he?" Ethan asked.

Vanessa squeezed his hand. "No, just sleeping upstairs. He earned a decent rest after all he did for us yesterday."

"He's not the only one," Frankenstein muttered darkly.

Before Ethan could make a witty retort Sembene reappeared carrying a large, gleaming blade. His face was set in its usual composure, but his eyes glittered enigmatically.

"Allow me," he said, and with no further preamble he raised the machete high above his head and brought it down on the corpse's neck, the blade severing its head in one clean slice with a resounding thunk.

"Ugh," Frankenstein groaned as a gust of steam and a nauseating aroma seeped out from the wound. A trickle of black sludge oozed out, but nothing more. The disfigured head rolled to the side, and then gave no further movement.

The group stared down at the decapitated heap for several moments, too cautious to move or speak. Finally, Frankenstein spoke up. "How do we know it's any more dead than it already was?"

Beside Ethan, Vanessa's hands balled slowly into fists as she looked up at the doctor. "We burn the head."

Frankenstein looked further repulsed, but the idea struck a chord with Ethan. "No, she's right. That thing was spat out by the fires of hell to harass Vanessa; it's only fitting that fire send it back."

She turned to him again, her eyes blazing in a frighteningly exultant way that he found both exciting and encouraging. He smiled slightly, rooted in place, unable to do more with Frankenstein and Sembene present.

"Madness," Frankenstein stubbornly intoned, even as he gingerly took the head in his gloved hands. He looked around the group once before turning back to the fireplace in the parlour. Ethan moved his hand up to grasp Vanessa's wrist as they watched him go, feeling her rapid pulse beneath her paper skin.

The doctor stood squarely in front of the fire and without hesitation tossed the head in. The fire grew around it in a sudden roar, forcing him back with an exclamation. Ethan clung tighter to Vanessa, but they and Sembene made no effort to move as the flames licked out from the hearth. Then, just as suddenly as it had risen, the fired died down again to its previous height, as if the cremation hadn't just occurred.

"What the hell was that?" the scandalized doctor called accusingly from where he still lay crumpled against a sofa.

"Victory," Vanessa hissed, and Ethan could feel the validation rolling off of her in waves. A grim smile spread across his face.

"What do we do with the rest of the body," he asked, turning back only to find Sembene crouched in a half-kneel, tugging the spotted linens over the corpse.

"Behind this house," he said as he worked, "there is an alley, and in that alley live dogs. These dogs have no place that is theirs and no hand to feed them, and so they have become hungry and cruel. I give these dogs scraps from dinner, and so they let me pass freely.

"It is more than this wretched beast deserves," he growled, looking up at Ethan and Vanessa, Frankenstein having just reformed the circle, "to be fed to wild dogs."

Vanessa nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Sembene."

The butler bowed his head in acknowledgement before returning to wrapping the sheets around the nightcomer.

"Wait," Ethan said, releasing his wife's hand as an idea struck him. "Just a minute."

He kneeled opposite Sembene and tore the edge of the sheet away from the rest, balling it up. Careful not to let any of the black matter touch his bare skin, he pressed the cloth into the liquid, allowing it to soak thickly into the ball. He stood, the blanket falling away from his shoulders again, and strode purposefully to the front door. His back to the others, he raised the cloth and drew a large, black cross onto the wood. Ethan took a step back, assessing it, and, satisfied that the marks were dark enough, he turned back to the group.

They watched him silently but still inquisitively as he dropped the rag atop the corpse and picked his blanket off the marble floor. With a sigh, he pulled it over his shoulders and looked back at each of them in turn.

"When a predator in the wild comes across the carcass of its prey, it remembers that spot, because now it knows where to hunt. But if it finds the body of one of its own, ravaged and picked over, it knows that something bigger and meaner than it hunts there, and it stays away. If those nightcomers try to get back in this house, they're going to see that door and they'll remember exactly what we're capable of."

As he finished, Sembene secured the last corner of linen over the body. "A wise choice," he acquiesced in his deep voice.

He gestured to Frankenstein with a smooth twist of his head that he help lift the bundle. The younger man looked as revolted as ever but hefted the lump regardless, holding his end determinedly away from himself.

Ethan watched them hobble the makeshift bag around the corner of the staircase before looking down at Vanessa. She was scrutinizing the mark he had made on the door intently. He moved his hand gently up and down her right arm.

"What are you thinking?" he murmured.

She didn't move her eyes from the door as she answered. "It's missing something."

Carefully, she pulled her right hand from his and brought her thumb to her lips. The impulse to stop her when she bit down was sudden and jarring, but Ethan held back as she walked to the front door, cradling her bleeding thumb in her left hand. He watched as she rubbed the blood into the polished wood, the now-familiar scorpion emerging from the stains.

When the glyph was finished she let her hands drop to her sides as she gazed at her creation. Ethan hoped she was thinking the same as he was, that with any luck this would be the last time she felt the need it draw it.

Slowly, he eased his way over to stand beside her, his eyes still fixed on the scorpion. She made no move to acknowledge him, even as he took her bloody hand in his and raised it to his chest. Her eyes did flick to their hands when he used his free hand to peel her fingers back from her palm. Holding her small hand tenderly in both of his, he bent his head to press a kiss into the center of her palm, then the bridge of her thumb.

She didn't blink when he took her injured thumb into his mouth, his tongue laving carefully along the pad. He felt her turn to him more than saw it; he only pulled her hand away when the bleeding had stopped. It twitched, nestled in his hands, before he curved the delicate white fingers back over into their previous ball, only looking down at her as he gave her knuckles one last kiss.

Her eyes were the raging thunderstorm of the night before, and she breathed his name in the same husky gasp as she had when he hovered over her. He wanted more than anything to shove her against the door, to have her over the markings of their united mysticism, but the hand she brought to his cheek, then ran down his stubbled neck to rest at the juncture of his shoulder, held him in place.

"Ethan," she whispered again, her voice seeming to stick in her throat despite her wild eyes. "We're going to win this war. I can feel it. You have given me everything – your strength, you courage, your protection, your faith. You saved me last night, not only from the nightcomers but myself. You have shown me love as no one else ever has.

"I never once thought I would survive this. Even as a girl, when these terrors first began to manifest, I didn't think I would ever overcome them. I resigned myself to fighting a losing battle."

She pulled her hands from his to frame his face, moving her body closer to his. Ethan thought he might have shuddered at her touch but let his hands fall loosely to her waist, the material of her robe crinkling under his hands.

Vanessa continued with her quiet speech. "But you, my Ethan, you have shown me that my demons can be defeated. You have proven that we can win. You have given me the hope not only of freeing myself from this torment but that I can have a life after it. A good life, a happy life. For the first time in so, so long, I believe we will win, Ethan, I _believe_.

"And it's because of you. All because of you, and I love you so ardently, so completely, for that and for everything you have done for me. I love all that you are, every piece of you, man or wolf. And I believe that we will have a life together."

There were no words Ethan could offer her in response; he had already made her every vow he could think of, and he knew she was not looking for more promises on his part. Vanessa was finally, finally meeting him halfway, offering her honesty in return for his. And it moved him more than any other words ever had.

So he leaned his head down to claim her lips with his, his hands gripping at her protruding hips before circling around her back to pull her fully against him, his body wrapping around hers. She met his kiss with a certain ferocity he recognized only in her, her arms looping around his neck to pull his head down closer to hers. Her feet just barely touched the floor.

She was warm and welcoming and so entirely his. Ethan could feel her trembling against him, but no longer did he fear provoking her darker side. Vanessa was so much stronger than that, so much more in control now. He had meant what he had said barely a day before when he told her she had renewed his faith.

How long they remained intertwined that way Ethan couldn't tell, but all too soon a hacking noise caused him to jerk his head away from Vanessa's in surprise. Frankenstein stood ten feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression somewhere between amused and embarrassed. His soiled apron and gloves were gone.

Vanessa shifted so that her slippered feet were flat against the floor once more, but neither she nor Ethan removed their arms from around each other. Frankenstein cocked an eyebrow and flexed his hands.

"Sembene says he's not going to let his cake sit any longer."

The exhausted and fevered part of Ethan's mind wanted to retreat upstairs with his wife, pull her into his arms and spend the remainder of the day curled around her as they slept. They had been denied that right the night before, after all. But admittedly he was ravenously hungry.

Looking down at Vanessa, he could see that behind her flushed cheeks and swollen lips and glorious eyes she was still incredibly fragile. Her skin was inexcusably pale and dark circles rimmed her eyes. Beneath his hands he felt not supple flesh but frail bones. They still had a long way to go.

"Some cake might do us good," he said.

Her hands moved down to rest over his bare chest. "Perhaps we should see about finding you some better clothes."

He shook his head and brought his hands up to her waist. "I'm alright. And I certainly wouldn't want to miss out on Sembene's cake."

She grinned and took his hand, leading him back into the parlour. Frankenstein followed auspiciously behind them. Sembene already stood at the coffee table, delicately slicing into a pristine white cake, all traces of the machete-wielding warrior gone for the moment. He looked up as they entered and inclined his head pointedly at the nearest sofa. Ethan felt himself smirk as he sat and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

Vanessa's youthful tutelage in the domestic arts appeared to kick in as she began plating the cake. Frankenstein slumped down onto the sofa to Ethan's left and propped up his feet. Sembene passed him a slice of cake as Vanessa turned to sit beside Ethan, a plate in each hand. He took the proffered one, and she smiled.

Silver forks were passed around, and Ethan glanced at his wife before cutting into his cake. She was glowing as she thanked Sembene in her cultured way. Ethan brought the first bite to his mouth and let himself hope.

* * *

 _Many apologizes for taking so long with this last chapter; I hope it's what you all wanted. Thank all of you so much for following this little thing for the last few weeks, especially those of you who migrated from this to some of my other stories. (Ironically, I wrote a rather lengthy story about a Vanessa and a Lily years before_ Penny Dreadful _ever aired.) Hopefully I'll find some time at some point in the future to response to all of your lovely reviews. Let's see where the last two episodes of the season take us, and perhaps I'll think of something new to post._


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